Choices
by Sera
Summary: Also known as the "What is Legolas doing?" fic. Gandalf can't get the doors to Moria to open. Enter a blond elf, a not-so-scruffy Ranger, and a human with an IQ of about 20. PG for slashy innuendos and general weirdness.
1. Decisions, Decisions...

A Lord of the Rings ficlet by Sera

****

"Choices"

Summary: Legolas is in Rivendell. He will be leaving with the Fellowship of the Ring the following day, and has a life-threatening decision to make…

I stalk angrily, albeit gracefully, along the diminutive length of the room. A tiny square chamber, only large enough to house two single beds; mine and my younger brother's. It irritates me that I have been forced to share with my sibling - it's not that I don't like him, but I need my privacy sometimes. When you get to my age, every moment alone is one moment more of sanity. The company I keep are fun, but they have their spasms of lunacy.

Like today. Some fool hobbit wants to take the One Ring into Mordor. What possessed me to offer my services? He can cavort off on his suicidal mission for all I care, but did I have to say I'd accompany him?!

Come to think of it, Aragorn would have volunteered me if I hadn't. I could see he was sore about my defending him. He thinks it makes him seem weak. Hah! He hadn't even told anyone he was Isildur's heir. You would think he really was a common Ranger, the way be behaves and dresses.

Not to mention the hair. Ugh. The thought of his greasy head snaps me out of my reverie and back to the pressing decision of the moment. Choices, choices. These may mean the difference between (my) life and death. I should choose wisely.

I pace back down the room, bare feet not even making a whisper on the wooden floor, glaring angrily at the shelf, presenting its silent challenge. Choose one!

Oh, such a heart-rending choice… I love them all. But we must travel light, and I have only space for one or two in my backpack. I suppose food is a more important necessity, although I have this feeling that I shall come to regret that ruling later on.

My brother, Sterransen, barges in at that moment, interrupting my train of thought. He looks quizzically at me.

"What are you doing, Legolas?"

"What does it look like?" I snap, annoyed. The only time he ever pesters me is the precise time I need it least.

"It looks like you're staring at your 'collection'." I can hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"I'm trying to make an important decision. I can do without your interference, Sterransen."

"Well!" he looks surprised. "I'm sorry. But you seem to have forgotten that I live here too."

"Only because Elrond lacks the proper accommodation for guests of our rank," I sneer. "Back home we have that entire wing reserved for visitors."

"True, but…" he walks over to the shelf. "Look, just pick one! This one. It's attractive."

"Not enough body."

"Well…" he says again, replacing the bottle. "This one?" he asks, selecting an orange bottle.

"Not bad, but no moisturiser."

Sterransen sighs. "It's not that hard, Legolas. I know you must always look your best, being sixth in line to the throne, but, you're going to Mordor, for goodness' sake! Orcs aren't going to stop dead and stare in awe at your beauty! And if you stop posing long enough to shoot them, they're not exactly going to compliment you!"

My temper flares. "You… you… you brat! How dare you mock me! Get out!" I grab the nearest bottle to hand, and check it's not one of my favourites before flinging it at his smirking head.

But he is gone, slipping out of the door. His laughter echoes down the corridor.

Scowling, I replace the bottle on the end of the shelf. Decisions, decisions. Which one shall it be? Herbal Essences? Pantene? Organics? Rejoice? So many brands, and so little time…

-fin-

A/N: He's choosing a shampoo, in case you hadn't guessed that.

Don't forget to review!


	2. Bad Moods and Bickering

Part the Second: Bad Moods and Bickering

Disclaimer: All Lord of the Rings characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Or possibly his more alive son Christopher. Sterransen is my own invention, my love, my precioussss….

The Sun had risen, casting her first tendrils of light over the Elven city of Rivendell. It was, by routine, a time of serene awakenings. Inhumanly beautiful elves would rouse themselves without a grumble, greeting the morning with smiles and songs. The shift of guards would change, fatigued watchers being relieved of their duties by fresher delegates. Such was the norm in Rivendell.

Well, not today.

"Legolas!"

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, jerked out of a very pleasurable dream involving himself, his girlfriend in white robes, a cool stream, and a conspicuous lack of an audience.

"Wha…?"

Sterransen stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed. Sterransen, his younger brother, blond, exceedingly handsome, and seventh in line to the throne, I might add.

"Aren't you supposed to be leaving on your quest now, Legolas?"

"Five minutes," Legolas mumbled, tugging the blanket up over his head.

"The rest of the Fellowship is in the courtyard waiting for you, and your hair is a mess," Sterransen continued unfeelingly.

Legolas, now fully awake, bit back a curse and darted out of bed. Within five minutes he was dressed, his hair was perfect, and he was scurrying down the stairs to the rest of his Company.

"Ah, there you are, Legolas," Gandalf remarked dryly. "We were starting to think you had mis-took the day of our departure."

"Huh?" said Pippin, who was busy paying more attention to the inaudible rumbles of his stomach than anything else. "Did someone call?"

Legolas ignored them both. "Goodbye, Sterransen," he said, turning back to his brother. "Take care of yourself. Send my love to Father." They shook hands, formally. The Fellowship turned their backs on Rivendell and stepped out onto the road. They continued along the path, some whistling, some singing softly, some muttering to themselves, and others complaining about how hungry they were.

"No one forced you to come with us," Gimli snapped, putting an end to Pippin's laments.

"Why did Lord Elrond not come to see us off?" asked Legolas.

"He did," replied Gimli. "You missed him. You were having an extended period of beauty sleep, I understand."

"Which you obviously have never gotten enough of, Master Dwarf," Legolas retorted.

"Was that a crack about my looks, elf?" Gimli roared, putting a hand on the hilt of his axe.

"That wasn't a crack, you gorse bush, that was an insult!" Legolas yelled back.

Aragorn leaped forward and wrestled Gimli back, stopping him from strangling Legolas with his bare hands. "How are we going to stand up to Sauron if we bicker amongst ourselves right from the word go?" he said to Gimli, reproachfully.

Gimli sulked, "He started it."

"That argument only works in kindergarten, and I don't care who started it," Aragorn said sternly. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Merry stifled a snigger.

As Gimli seethed, Legolas patted him condescendingly on the head. "Temper, temper, Master Dwarf."

Gimli stomped ahead, swearing in colourful Dwarvish. "Shut up, stupid elf," he called back.

"When you do, half-witted dwarf," Legolas shouted, grinning.

"Shut up, Legolas," Aragorn said in Elvish.

Legolas seriously considered saying, "Make me," then decided against it. Aragorn might choose that as an excuse to reveal the embarrassing incident of… never mind.

* * * * * * *

The day wore on. The Walkers continued in sullen silence. Pippin was hungry, Gimli was plotting revenge against Legolas, Boromir was worrying about God-knows-what, Aragorn was mapping their route in his head. Gandalf and the hobbits were trudging along with immensely bored expressions.

Legolas had firmly decided that his hair needed a wash. He couldn't let his standards slip just because he was on a mission to Mordor. He was the sole representative of the elves, and it was his burden to make the elves look good. Which brought him back to the point: his hair needed a wash.

"Aragorn," he called, "When do we set up camp?"

Aragorn didn't even pause. "We do not stop until nightfall."

"Lazy elf," Gimli added.

So now Legolas was sulking. And Pippin was hungry. The Fellowship were not in a collectively good mood.

* * * * * * *

Not a moment too soon, it was dusk. Aragorn halted the company and began unrolling sleeping bags. Legolas said hurriedly, "I'll take first watch," and retrieved something from his rucksack before dashing out of the clearing.

"Where's he going?" Boromir asked, puzzled.

"I hear running water in that direction," responded Aragorn, glad to be able to flaunt his Ranger skills. "Perhaps he is thirsty from all that singing."

Boromir grunted in agreement.

Sam cooked dinner and they ate. It was Gimli, strangely enough, who remembered to save some for Legolas. Everyone else was of the opinion that if the elf didn't turn up for food, that was his problem. But Gimli insisted, and no one had enough strength to argue or question his motives. A quarter of an hour later, everyone was asleep. (Really. They inhaled dinner, then crawled into their sleeping bags.) 

To be more accurate, everyone was asleep except for Aragorn. Having nothing better to do, he went to look for Legolas.

He pushed his way through the thick ferns by the riverside. He stopped, and stared in amazement, at Legolas who was sitting on the bank doing something he'd never seen before. It took him a while to find his voice.

"What are you doing, Legolas?"

-end part two-

Some words from the Author:

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter (AJ Matthews, Laura, Mitheithel, Arwen Lune, Elven Beauty, Gabrielle Lawson, Draco Malfoy N Harry Potter, Blondie) and persuaded me to continue this story. Any suggestions are welcome as I really have no idea where this fic is heading. Flames are also welcome, because they make me laugh and I can use them to light the gas cooker on my camping trip next weekend.


	3. Legolas, Aragorn, and a small blue bottl...

Part the Third: Legolas, Aragorn, and a small blue bottle

Aragorn stopped where he was. In all his experience as a Ranger, he had never witnessed such a spectacle. 

"What are you doing, Legolas?" he croaked, bewildered.

Legolas looked up abruptly, startled. His elbow caught a small blue bottle, knocking it off the bank into the river. With a yelp, Legolas plunged his hands in after it. Not finding it (and the river was deeper than he'd expected) he dove in.

When he emerged - bearing the precious bottle - his tunic and leggings were completely soaked. He glared at Aragorn.

"Now see what you've done, sneaking up on people like that," he began reproachfully.

"You're an elf! You should have heard me coming a mile off!" Aragorn protested.

"I was distracted," came the haughty reply. "Well, what did you want? You were hardly chasing after me to enquire about my welfare."

"Actually, that is what I was doing," said Aragorn. He turned to leave, but curiosity got the better of him. "What _were_ you doing, Legolas?"

Legolas put his hands on his hips in an effeminate yet breathtakingly sexy gesture. "You may be entitled to boss the others around, my _Lord_, but my business is my own," he spat. The viciousness of this retort was somewhat diluted by the fact that he was standing in the middle of the stream, wet up to his thighs, clutching a bottle in his left hand. Add the dripping hair and you have a very unintimidating elf.

Aragorn's eyes glittered mischievously. "Then I shall have to find out for myself." He strode into the stream, pushed Legolas over, and grabbed the bottle. "Herbal Essences. New formula, washes, conditions, moisturises. For fine hair," he read.

"That's mine! Give it back!" yelled Legolas, sitting on the riverbed. "Aragorn!"

Aragorn had more important things to worry about than Legolas wanting his shampoo back. "But what does it do?" he asked, scratching his head. "What were you doing with it? Is it some kind of potion?"

Legolas stood up and snatched the bottle back. "You could say that," he huffed. "I can't believe that you, of all people, have never heard of washing one's hair… wait, actually, I can believe that. Easily."

Still baffled, Aragorn sat on the bank. "Washing your hair? Why would you do that?"

Legolas sighed in frustration. "Look, I'll wash your hair for you if you want. Eärendil knows you need it."

"How?"

"Sit." Legolas gestured to the space in front of him. "It's like talking to a five year old," he muttered to himself in Elvish.

"What was that? I do understand Elvish you know," Aragorn snapped, reasserting himself. "And, see here Legolas, you can't order me around like that. I am Isildur's heir, you know."

"_I_ know," Legolas snarled. "No one else would have if _I_ hadn't told them. They all thought you were a common Ranger. That's why you need to work on your image! Now, _sit!_"

"Okay," said Aragorn meekly, and sat.

Legolas rinsed off his own hair before starting on Aragorn's. It wasn't as bad as he had feared, the shininess was natural oils more than anything else; shouldn't be too much of a problem. He wished fervently that he'd brought another bottle - see, if he didn't bring a spare, then he'd need it!

Aragorn closed his eyes and leaned back, against Legolas. "That feels nice," he admitted.

"That's because your hair is getting _clean_," Legolas laughed. His bad mood had evaporated. His hair was clean, Aragorn's hair was going to be clean, maybe he could even persuade Gimli to do something about his overgrown facial hair… Could life get any better?

Aragorn murmured happily, eyes still closed. "Wake me up when you're done," he told Legolas.

It was in this relaxed state that Boromir, who had just woken up and realised that two beds were empty, found them.

He froze with one hand holding the ferns out of his way, the other hanging limply at his side. His jaw hung open in a comical attitude of astonishment and disbelief. Realising how silly he would look to anyone happening to see him, he closed his mouth. His eyes were still staring at the two figures, sitting in the river.

Aragorn had his eyes shut, and actually seemed to be _moaning_. Legolas had that little quirky smile on his face while he ran his hands through Aragorn's hair. No… it could not be… Were Aragorn and Legolas having some sort of kinky sex? If so, could he join? Oh, where did that thought come from? Bad Boromir, bad. You are not gay, he reprimanded himself sternly.

Legolas looked up suddenly. Boromir did some quick thinking and realised that if Legolas saw him, which he undoubtedly would, then he (Legolas) would think that he (Boromir) had been spying on them. Which, although it was true, would never do. So he would have to take the initiative.

Gathering his wits about him, he called across to Legolas in a voice louder than was strictly necessary.

"What are you _doing_, Legolas?"

-fin part three-

To all the kind souls who reviewed (Anna Lyn, Legolas's Lover, Lady Ev, HarpWire, Feriofreak, RedT, Sarindra, Lady Robyn) thank you! One phrase has been said in every chapter. Can you guess what phrase that is? Difficult, I know.

Next chapter: What does Boromir think is going on between Legolas and Aragorn, apart from kinky sex? And is he gay or not? Does he join them?


	4. Misinterpretation is a long word

Part the Fourth: Misinterpretation is a long word

Author's Note: Yes, Herbal Essences does not sell blue shampoo. And that leads me to…

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings characters belong to the JRR Tolkien Estate (I think that's what it's called) and his son Christopher. Legolas' blue bottle of Herbal Essences exists solely due to my imagination. The same goes for Sterransen.

We left off at the point where Legolas was washing Aragorn's hair. And, you know, with it being Herbal Essences and all…

* * * * * * *

It was in this relaxed state that Boromir, who had just woken up and realised that two beds were empty, found them.

He froze with one hand holding the ferns out of his way, the other hanging limply at his side. His jaw hung open in a comical attitude of astonishment and disbelief. Realising how silly he would look to anyone happening to see him, he closed his mouth. His eyes were still staring at the two figures, sitting in the river.

Aragorn had his eyes shut, and actually seemed to be _moaning_. Legolas had that little quirky smile on his face while he ran his hands through Aragorn's hair. No… it could not be… Were Aragorn and Legolas having some sort of kinky sex? If so, could he join? Oh, where did that thought come from? Bad Boromir, bad. You are not gay, he reprimanded himself sternly.

Legolas looked up suddenly. Boromir did some quick thinking and realised that if Legolas saw him, which he undoubtedly would, then he (Legolas) would think that he (Boromir) had been spying on them. Which, although it was true, would never do. So he would have to take the initiative.

Gathering his wits about him, he called across to Legolas in a voice louder than was strictly necessary.

"What are you _doing_, Legolas?"

The reaction was nothing short of cataclysmic.

Aragorn sat up so abruptly that the back of his head connected with Legolas's chin. Ignoring the yelp of pain from the elf and the shock to his own cranium, he began frantically scrabbling for his sword, which lay unbuckled in its scabbard, on the bank.

"Show yourself!" he rasped.

Boromir was dumbstruck at the traces of bubbly white in Aragorn's hair. His suspicions were crystallising with the speed of a tortoise on sedatives, which is actually quite fast thinking by Boromir's standards.

"You… and Legolas…" he blurted.

"Yes, me, and Legolas," Aragorn said impatiently, brandishing his sword. "Glad you know our names, Boromir. What did you want?"

"You… and Legolas… were…were…" Boromir stuttered, unable to get the words out past his mental block of disbelief.

"We were what?" growled Legolas, rising from the stream rubbing his jaw.

"Together," Boromir squeaked. "Doing something," he concluded, with a little more confidence.

"Yes," said Legolas. "Aragorn needed it. Apparently he's never done it before."

Boromir considered this. "Never done it before… with you, or with anyone?"

"Anyone."

Boromir sat down heavily on a stone. "Wow," he commented. "I… wouldn't have thought Aragorn was that kind of person."

Legolas snorted. "You wouldn't? Look at him, for Eärendil's sake! He was a walking dirtbag before I fixed him up!"

"Thanks. I really appreciate that evaluation of my looks," Aragorn said sarcastically, sheathing his blade.

"It's truth!"

"I'll have you know, you young upstart, that many women found me attractive before you 'fixed me up'…"

"Who are you calling 'young'? For all you know, I could be old enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather! Have some respect for the immortals!"

"I happen to know that you're not even a hundred. The hobbits could put you to shame! So don't go preaching at me with your, I'm an elf, I'm superior, sermon!"

Boromir, meanwhile, was putting two and two together and getting two hundred and twenty two.

"Wait, guys," he interrupted. "So what you're saying is, you're both together? How long has this been going on?"

Legolas and Aragorn broke off their quarrel. "What do you mean?"

"How long have you guys been… you know…" He made a random gesture in the air which could have been interpreted in about a thousand different ways. Neither Legolas not Aragorn took it the way he meant it. After all, _they'd_ been washing their hair, not harboring lustful thoughts and self-contradictions.

"I'm not sure," said Legolas, looking up at the sky. "One loses track of the time after a while. Have we been very long?"

But Boromir had remembered a nugget of information from earlier conversations at the dinner table. "Legolas… don't you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes, I do, and what exactly has that got to do with this discussion?"

"Well, I mean, I mean… you do this often?" queried Boromir, cringing inwardly. He wouldn't have taken Legolas to be the kind of person who would cheat on his lover… and with a member of the same sex, too.

Legolas was thinking on a completely different wavelength, in case you hadn't already figured that out. "Yes," he repeated. "Twice a week."

"So you're very experienced," Boromir persisted. "You could probably do me some good," he added, leering a little.

"I'm sure I could," Legolas replied, eyeing Boromir's hair distastefully.

"And this was Aragorn's first time? He was a virgin before this?" Boromir continued.

Aragorn, who had been rinsing out his hair in the stream, straightened abruptly. "What!" he exclaimed. "Boromir, are we all talking about the same thing?!"

Boromir was equally taken aback. "You mean you and the elf _weren't_… you know…" he wrung his hands. "Having sex?" he finished, in a whisper.

"What?!" yelled Aragorn, even louder than before.

"Don't say what, Aragorn, say Pardon," Legolas muttered.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing!" Legolas looked away innocently. Butterscotch wouldn't have melted in his mouth.

Aragorn turned back to Boromir and vented his thoughts. "You mean, you thought Legolas and I were gay?! Having SEX?! What kind of pervert are you?!"

Legolas opened his mouth and closed it again in a fairly convincing goldfish imitation. "You mean… he thought… and I said…" He began to laugh helplessly.

Aragorn stopped mid-rant and gawked at him. "You're finding this funny? How could you? Your reputation is at stake here! The whole Fellowship thinks you and I are gay! Where's the humour in it?"

Clutching his sides, Legolas sat down on a rock in the creek. "Boromir asked… did I do this often, and I said… twice a week!" He dissolved into mirth.

Boromir went from looking poleaxed to looking like he might giggle. Aragorn glared fiercely at him, and the look on Aragorn's face was enough to start him chuckling.

Aragorn was not amused. With his foot, he shoved Boromir into the middle of the stream, on top of Legolas. The wet, bedraggled man and elf supported each other as they roared with laughter. This went on for some time.

Finally Aragorn saw the funny side of it all, and after being reassured umpteen times that nobody else in the Fellowship had seen them, he too collapsed into the water and snickered along with Boromir and Legolas.

Legolas offered to wash Boromir's hair. This was accomplished with Aragorn joining in, water fights, and the blue bottle being completely emptied.

Their laughter could probably have been heard back at the camp, although at the moment they weren't worried about the rest of their Company. (This may or may not have repercussions later on in the story.) 

If somebody had chosen to attack them, they'd have been slaughtered in seconds, but luckily they were still well within the boundaries of Rivendell territory. (And if they got killed, that would play havoc with the plot. I'd have to continue with a Fellowship of Six.)

Eventually, they calmed themselves down, dried themselves off, and got their weary selves back to bed.

As he rolled into his sleeping bag, Legolas cursed aloud.

"Damn!" he thought, snuggling into the warmth. "I'm out of shampoo!"

-fin part four-

Thanks to my many reviewers for support: Eileen, AJ Matthews, odyssey, Shila, PrincesS of MirkwooD, Amancirith Carangarien, Shir'Ann, Lady Robyn, Aniron, Eos-Is-Mah-Muse-157, Kitty, Mercuria, Blood thirsty, Elendawen, Zage.

I'm glad you guys liked it so far. I did use a snippet from a review earlier on, so the credit for that goes to Sarindra.

__

Did anyone hear Legolas, Aragorn or Boromir in the stream? Where is this story heading? Is it even going to be continued? Review, and we shall see!


	5. Sterransen joins the party

Part the Fifth: Sterransen joins the party

The rising sun found nine companions nestled in sleeping bags, in the midst of Rivendell territory. Six of said companions shook themselves out of slumber as the first rays of the dawn threw sparkles to the morning dew. Three stayed solidly where they were.

"Hey!" yelled Pippin, shaking the nearest motionless sleeping bag. "Aren't you going to get up?"

Aragorn's hand flashed out and caught the hobbit by the shirt collar. He heaved slightly, sending Pippin flying over him into another prone shape. He then turned over and went back to sleep.

"Having you fling yourself at me first thing in the morning is not the way I prefer to wake up, Pippin," Legolas complained. Pippin quailed under the fierce glare of the elf, scuttled away, and returned with a mushroom omlette. He offered it to Legolas.

"I forgive you," Legolas grinned, and dug into the omlette. Aragorn, in the background, was emerging from his cocoon.

* * * * * * *

Half an hour later.

"Oh my Boromir, I'm so sorry, did you want some?" Sam asked innocently, batting his eyes. "I'm afraid there doesn't seem to be any left."

"Why not?" grunted Boromir, only half awake.

"Because," chuckled Gimli, who had never been taught not to start a sentence with because, "the greedy elf ate it all."

Legolas paused. One braid of hair hung across his shoulders; he was working on the other one. "Who are you calling a greedy elf, shortarse? I happen to know you personally ate _six_ eggs' worth."

"Yes, but I cooked, ignorant elf," argued Gimli. "Chef's privilege."

"Well, cook me some more," Boromir ordered.

"He can't," piped up Frodo. "We're out of eggs."

"Congratulations, everyone," Aragorn said, walking up and buckling his sword belt. "You've managed to eat the rations that were meant for the whole trip. I can see we're going to get along splendidly."

"I know," deadpanned Merry. "We finished the mushrooms, too."

The debate would have dragged on for some time had the travelers not heard rapidly approaching hoofbeats. "Hark!" shouted Aragorn, drawing his sword.

"Hark?" muttered Legolas. "You sound like my father."

"Ssh!" hissed Pippin, who had thrown himself behind a convenient bush and was cowering with his hands over his head.

A rider on a great bay horse pulled up in the clearing. When the dust cleared, they saw a blond, pointy-eared creature, dismounting fluidly from his steed. A quiver of arrows was slung across his back and a long knife, identical to Legolas's, hung at his side. Yep, definitely an elf.

Unfortunately for the elf, Aragorn's sword was at his throat.

"Whoa!" he said, surprised. "Watch it. It's me, Sterransen."

"And who would Sterransen be?" enquired Aragorn, tilting Anduril a little, so the point rested in the hollow of Sterransen's neck.

"I'm his brother," Sterransen explained, pointing v-e-r-y slowly in Legolas' direction. Since Frodo, Sam, Boromir and Gimli were surrounding Legolas, it was impossible to tell who he meant. Legolas knew, of course, but remained impassive.

"Whose?" Aragorn persisted.

Sterransen looked annoyed. "Legolas. Of Mirkwood. I'm his younger brother."

"Prove it," Legolas said, stepping forward and crossing his arms over his chest. "You could be an impostor."

Sterransen spluttered in indignation. "I should think you'd recognise your own kin, Legolas…"

"Prove it."

Sterransen's eyes flashed angrily. "You are such a dick!" he yelled.

Aragorn looked questioningly at Legolas, who shrugged in reply and grinned mischievously. "Yep, that's him."

Aragorn sheathed Anduril and waved for Sterransen to sit down. Instead, Sterransen stalked over to Legolas, furious, and punched him in the face.

What happened next? I'll leave that to your imagination…

-fin part five-

Thanks to all you people who reviewed! (AJ Matthews, Blood thirsty, Rosie, Shiva, Jim Morningstar, Eos-Is-Mah-Muse-157, Papillon) There will be more coming on the way… slowly… Meanwhile, keep rocking all!!


	6. It Takes Two

Part the Sixth: It Takes Two

"You immature, stupid, childish, puerile, insensible, idiotic, half-witted _brat_!!" Legolas raged as he and Sterransen stormed towards the stream. Blood seeped from a cut lip, his knuckles were raw, and he was nursing his jaw, which had been impacted twice in as many days.

"What about you?!" Sterransen (sporting a black eye and a twisted ankle) shouted. "You didn't have to hit me back!"

"You expected me to just stand there and take it?! Not in this Age, brother mine, nor in any to come," rejoined Legolas.

"You were asking for it! 'Prove it'… of all the dumb stunts! Aragorn almost took my head off!"

"No one asked you to come! We were doing fine on our own! Are you trying to babysit me or something? I'm older than you!"

"You certainly didn't act it!" shot back Sterransen.

"Moron!"

"Bully!"

"Wimp!"

"Effeminate elf!"

"You're just jealous because you haven't been getting any!"

"Shut up!"

At that moment, Frodo poked his head through the ferns. "You're both being really daft about this, you know that?"

"Get lost!" As one, both Legolas and Sterransen reached for rocks. Frodo blinked in astonishment and fled.

"Aragorn…" they heard him whine. His voice faded.

"Anyway," Legolas turned back to face his brother, "You started this! Punching me! What happened to upholding the reputation of the elves?"

"I believe that was _your_ idea, not mine. You were the one who insisted on having clean hair," Sterransen replied sourly. He sat down on the edge of the river and dipped his ankle into the flow.

Legolas gingerly splashed water onto his face. His lip was bleeding freely now, and the cold water stung. _I'm losing this argument_, he thought.

"And you bloody well knew it was me the moment you saw me. I suppose that was your idea of a joke. You have a twisted sense of humour, Legolas," Sterransen was complaining. 

"I'm sorry."

"And now Aragorn thinks we're both undergrown, sheltered princelings who can't resist petty spats every other minute."

"I'm sorry."

"He's going to think really highly of _you_, seeing as…what?" Sterransen broke off, mid-rant.

"I'm sorry," Legolas repeated, striving for, and achieving, patience.

"You… are?" Sterransen flicked a lock of blond hair out of his eyes and regarded his brother suspiciously. "This isn't another joke, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"Well!" he exhaled deeply. "Apology accepted, then."

"How's your ankle?" Legolas asked, gently raising it onto a rock and starting to bandage it with a strip of linen from his already torn shirt.

"I'll live," laughed Sterransen. "This reminds me of when we were young… well, younger than we are now, and…"

At that moment, Aragorn was heard crashing through the underbrush. "Stupid elves," he was muttering, although the so-called 'stupid elves' heard every word. "You'd think Legolas would be mature enough to realise it takes two for an argument to take place. They've probably killed each other, and then where will we be?" He pushed aside a fern and walked towards the river.

"You'd be with a Fellowship of Eight," Legolas teased. "I know your math is bad, Aragorn, but, honestly!"

Aragorn scowled. "Are you always like this? You beat up your brother, then patch him together again before your father notices?"

"Leave him, Aragorn," Sterransen protested. "Our family disputes are our own. And currently there is no quarrel between us. Let sleeping dragons lie."

Aragorn grumbled. Finally he said, "Come on. Let's head back to camp. We're getting ready to move on."

* * * * * * *

"I brought supplies," Sterransen said, reaching into his saddlebags. He unloaded packets of dried mushrooms, small purses of coins, and…

"What's that?" Pippin asked, reaching eagerly for a small blue bottle.

"Mine!" Legolas shouted, snatching it from the hobbit's curious hands. "Don't spill it!"

Sterransen, meanwhile, was cramming yet another blue bottle and two purple ones into Legolas' rucksack. "My present to you, brother. Ambassador of the elves and all that."

Boromir snorted with laughter.

"You find that amusing, Boromir?" questioned Aragorn.

"Ooh!" squealed Merry, recalling something from the depths of his memory. "Last night, you guys came back soaking wet! What were you doing?"

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged looks. "I think you must have been dreaming, Merry," Legolas said innocently. 

"Last night? We were…" Boromir began.

Aragorn stepped hard on his foot.

"…Sleeping, of course," Boromir finished awkwardly, hopping backwards.

"Washing your hair, brother mine?" Sterransen stage-whispered in Legolas' ear, in Elvish. "From the looks of it, you did Aragorn and Boromir over as well."

Legolas 'whispered' back, "Now, if only the dwarf would go something about his overgrown facial hair…"

Both of them burst out laughing. Aragorn allowed himself to smile indulgently. "Children…" he prompted. "Shall we be off?"

"Who are you calling a child?" Legolas mock-raged. "For all you know, I could be old enough to be your great-great-great-great-great grandfather!"

"We had this discussion already," Aragorn pointed out. "And I very strongly remember saying that you're not even a hundred."

"What about me?" Sterransen asked. "I could be a thousand!"

"But you're not, are you?" Sam said, astutely. "You're Legolas' _younger_ brother."

Sterransen spat a curse in Elvish and grinned broadly. "I'm eighty-four. Legolas is eighty-seven."

"Let's go!" Aragorn yelled impatiently, from ten metres down the path. "Evil Rings don't destroy themselves, you realise!"

Legolas waved goodbye to his brother as he mounted his horse and turned back in the direction of Rivendell. "Look after the ankle!" he called.

"Keep your hair clean!" came the reply.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, the poets say.

The Fellowship of the Ring took that single step, and began the journey to Mordor.

-fin part six-

Thanks to all (especially AJ Matthews, Markers, Distant Dreamer, Amancirith Carangarien, and Sam, who reviewed) and there will most likely be a delay in the next chapter. I lied earlier.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien. Sterransen is my own. So are the blue and purple bottles of Herbal Essences, but I sent them to Legolas via Sterransen.


	7. Another Big Important Choice

Part the Seventh: Another Big Important Choice

The Fellowship continued their quest towards Mordor. After trying to go over Caradhras, and being foiled by Saruman's badly-aimed lightning bolts, they were setting up camp.

"So tomorrow we will head for the Mines of Moria," Gimli announced, looking smug.

"Are you sure we will be welcome there?" Aragorn asked, cautious as always.

"Of course! That's what family is for!" Gimli looked around, beaming. He was happier than everyone else put together. "Why so glum?"

There were mumbled answers.

"Moria is a dangerous place."

"I dislike caves."

"I have heard that…"

"I'm hungry!" The last came from Pippin, of course.

They ate. Afterwards, Legolas went to the nearby river, and washed his hair. _Must look good in front of the dwarves_, he thought. _I'll have to rebraid it tomorrow morning._

* * * * * * *

Aragorn was taking an early bath in the soft pre-dawn light when he witnessed a spectre, shining with radiance, approaching him. The spectre's long hair hung over its shoulder, and the spectre appeared to be braiding it. A delicate elven ear could be seen through the fine curtain of hair. Aragorn smiled.

"Arwen?" he questioned. "What are you doing here, my love?"

The glow vanished. The spectre became an ordinary elf, clad in white, with a seriously annoyed expression on its countenance.

"Are you defective in some way, Aragorn son of Arathorn, that you mistake a blond male for a brown-haired female?" Legolas pouted. "I really don't appreciate that."

Caught, Aragorn tried to backtrack. "I mean… I thought… you're both elves!"

"I don't call you Boromir, do I? You're both dumb mortals."

"Who are you calling a dumb mortal?!" Aragorn sat up in the river. "That was a genuine mistake!"

"Why? Am I that effeminate?" Legolas asked sarcastically.

"Yes!" Then, off the elf's look, "That was a joke, naturally."

"Naturally," Legolas repeated, fingering the hilt of his knife.

"It's just because you've got your hair down! And you have long hair! Like Arwen! And it's too dark to tell the colour from that distance! And you've got it in the same style as hers! And you're wearing white, you never wear white, Arwen wears white! You both look like that when you plait your hair!" Aragorn babbled on, watching Legolas draw the knife and balance the blade between his fingers. He realised what a vulnerable situation he was in.

"Look, I'm really really sorry!" he continued, frantic. "I'll make it up to you!"

Legolas grinned evilly. "Will you now…"

"Yes! Yes!"

With a shrug, Legolas sheathed the knife and sat by the edge of the river. "You do realise, Aragorn, I wouldn't really have done anything."

"Really? You looked like you meant to…"

"Perhaps take an inch off the bottom of your…"

"No!" wailed Aragorn, curling up.

"…hair," Legolas finished. "It's much easier to look after when it's short." Then, with a smirk, "Honestly, where has your mind been? Down with Boromir's in the gutter?"

"Hmph."

Legolas took pity on the aggrieved Ranger, and changed the subject. "Look, I have an important choice to make, and I need your help."

"Why not ask Pippin? That little bottomless pit seems to like you."

"The hobbit? All his taste is in his mouth," came the unfair retort.

"I heard that!" Pippin cried shrilly.

"Where did you come from?" Aragorn demanded.

"I wanted a bath," Pippin protested. "The river is a public place, isn't it? Good morning, Mister Elf."

Said elf sighed heavily. "Since you're here, little one, you can help me."

"With what?"

"An important choice," Aragorn quoted.

"Yes?"

Legolas turned so the two others could see his profile. "Should I braid my hair behind my ear, or in front of it?"

Pippin's jaw dropped. "_That's_ the big important choice?"

"Or I could take the whole thing to the back and plait it all together…"

Aragorn was laughing. "Not effeminate, you say…"

"Shut up! I have to look my best! I'm a representative of the elves! The dwarves will take me to be a model of all the elves!"

"Yes, and they'll assume all the elves are prissy, vain, blonde, vain, sissified, vain, immortal, vain creatures!" Aragorn chuckled.

"With pointy ears," Pippin added.

Legolas threw the bottle at Pippin, and wrestled Aragorn into the stream.

"Ooh! The blue bottle!" Pippin squealed. He opened the top and started to pour some of the shampoo out. "Smells nice…"

Legolas diverted his attention from drowning Aragorn to the hobbit who was wasting his precious supply of hair care products. "Leave that! It's mine!"

"You threw it to me," Pippin replied, dancing away.

"I threw it AT you! Not TO you! There's a difference!" Legolas roared, and set after him, blond hair whirling in its unplaited glory behind him. He snagged Pippin's wrist. "Give it back!"

From behind him came the familiar sound of a cranky old wizard clearing his throat in a very pointed manner. The elf and the hobbit both turned. The Man, in the stream, sat up and regarded the intruder.

"What are you doing, Legolas?" Gandalf said. His staff was glowing, his mustache was bristling, and his eyebrows were frowning in such a way that made it clear he was incredibly displeased.

"Er… nothing," Legolas stammered, releasing Pippin.

Gandalf fixed his gaze on Pippin. "And you, Fool of a Took?"

"Mucking about," Pippin said to Gandalf's feet.

"Fine way to behave," Gandalf admonished them. "You two are representatives of your species. What will the dwarves think, when they meet us in Moria!"

"Sorry," they chorused.

"You will be," Gandalf grumbled, turning on his heel. "Your racket woke me out of a sound sleep. We are leaving, gentlemen, pack your belongings."

He retreated towards the camp. Aragorn, Legolas and Pippin could hear him rousing the others.

"Shall we?"

As Pippin stomped back towards the campsite, Aragorn hoisted himself out of the river.

"Legolas," he said, in Elvish. "Just do your hair the same as you've been doing it. It looks fine."

"Only 'fine'?" Legolas queried, looking over his shoulder.

"Beautiful," Aragorn hastily amended. "Stunning. Dazzling. Exquisite, magnificent, gorgeous. Like your ethereal self."

Legolas paused in his walking and put on a high voice. "If you say so, Aragorn my love." He batted his eyes at the startled Ranger, then fled, laughing heartily, as Aragorn lunged at his heels.

-fin part seven-

Thanks to all the reviewers (Eileen, Sprite, Aymara, Blood thirsty, ~*~Elven Princess Lacey~*~, Mirëwen, and QueenSusantheGentle), and since you've read this, kindly let me know what you think. Flames very much welcome - they will be used to roast the chicken for my upcoming party.


	8. Three Of A Kind

Part the Eighth: Three Of A Kind

"Remind me again why _we_ have to suffer for your stupidity," Boromir complained as the Fellowship dragged their weary selves towards Moria. The area around them was already darkening, even though it was just after lunch, as the mountain gradually imposed itself between their route, and the sun.

"You three decided to muck about, and so the rest of us have to get up earlier than expected. Fine punishment, I say," he continued.

"Shut up," said Legolas.

"You know, he does have a point," Gimli was saying to Gandalf. "Couldn't you have made them do push-ups, or something?"

Gandalf peered out from under the brim of his hat. "I would have thought you would be glad to reach Moria as soon as possible, Master Dwarf."

Gimli frowned moodily, and said nothing more.

* * * * * * *

"Would you like some, Master Elf?" Pippin asked politely, offering a handful of pipe-weed to Legolas.

Legolas wrinkled his nose at the strong tobacco-like smell emanating from the leaves. "No, thank you. That substance is evil and it damages your lungs."

"Really?" Pippin said, unperturbed. "How do you know that?"

"Well, I--"

"Have you ever tried any?"

"No, but--"

"So how do you know it's bad for you?"

"I--"

"There! You don't! So have some!" flushed by his logical victory, Pippin produced a spare pipe from his jacket pocket and shoved it into Legolas' hand. Legolas took a hesitant puff.

"Like it?"

His only answer was a violent coughing from Legolas.

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder. "Who's been giving the elf pipe weed?" he demanded.

"Not me," replied Pippin casually, the butter in his mouth freezing solid.

"What about the rest of us?" Boromir growled.

And so Pippin was divested of most of his stash. They strolled along, Legolas sneezing occasionally.

"Elves," observed Aragorn snootily. "Can't hold their liquor or their smoke. Arwen's the same."

"Shut up," said Legolas.

* * * * * * *

"So we stand at the gates of Moria," Gandalf announced dramatically, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. As it was pitch-black, no-one really paid any attention to his showmanship.

"I'm hungry," moaned Pippin.

"Do not fear, little one," said Gimli sympathetically. "As soon as Gandalf figures out how to get inside the mountain, we shall have a feast that even you will declare too much for your stomach!"

"No such thing," said Pippin stoutly.

Gandalf found the door, revealed it with special effects and other hocus-pocus, then sat down on a stone and tried to remember the password. Just like in the movie. The other eight characters wondered why the pace of the story had changed, and for how much longer the author was going to get away with such out-of-character drivel. Having nothing better to do, they made small talk (literally!)

"You look ill," Frodo commented to Legolas.

"Nonsense," came the reply, "Elves don't get ill."

"Yes they do," interjected Aragorn, "Why, once, I went on a camping trip with Arwen, and we… er… got wet… and she caught a cold. I mean, I told her trying to do it in cold lake water wasn't a good idea, but she said…"

"Shut up," grumbled Gimli.

"No, that's not what she said," Aragorn continued patiently. "And how dare you, Gimli, command me, the future king, to 'shut up'?" He unsheathed Anduril and advanced on Gimli. "I shall trim that overgrown facial hair of yours."

"Pick on someone your own size," muttered Boromir. "Bully. Coward."

"What was that?!" Aragorn demanded, whirling around and accidentally stomping on Boromir's foot.

"Nothing," said he, limping backwards.

"I would have said it if he hadn't," Legolas ventured, gesturing towards Gimli. "None of us are remotely interested in your love life, Elessar. You and Arwen are so lovestruck it's enough to make a squirrel sick."

"I could eat a squirrel right about now," Merry said. He was both hungry and a little hurt at being ignored by the author for so long.

"If you declare so, that is true." Aragorn put Anduril away and picked up on his earlier thread of conversation. "As I was saying, elves do get sick. But whether Legolas is sick or not is a different matter."

"I think you do look sick," Frodo insisted. "Don't you think he looks sick, Sam?"

"That he do, Mr. Frodo," Sam said loyally.

"Ah, you always agree with Frodo," Pippin said, coming to the elf's rescue. "I think he's fine."

"You only say that because if he is sick, it's your fault," argued Merry.

"How so, Master Meriadoc?"

"You gave him the pipe-weed, did you not?"

"Yes, well, he didn't have to take it…"

"You forced me to!" Legolas protested. "I said it was bad. I'm not going to say I told you so."

Pippin regarded him slyly. "I thought you said elves don't get sick."

"We don't. That's why I'm not saying I told you so." And, as an afterthought, "Fool of a Took."

"Now, now," Frodo said. "No need to go with the name calling."

"Be quiet, shorty." Legolas said sourly and turned away.

"Elves may not get sick, but do they have temper tantrums, mood swings, and times where they go off to sulk?" Pippin called after him.

There was no reply.

-fin part eight-

Thanks to: Mirëwen, QueenSusantheGentle, AJ Matthews, Kuri, Markers, Arwenhippy, Eve, and Meagan.

Next chapter: Is Legolas sulking? What's the deal with Boromir's intellect, or lack of it? Is talking in another language which people can't understand really rude, or is it their problem that they can't understand you?

And, it wasn't Gandalf, Pippin, or Frodo who really caused the gates to Moria to open.


	9. How It Really Happened

Part the Ninth: How It Really Happened

In a saner part of the scene, Gandalf threw his staff down on the ground. "It's no use," he groaned. "The doors won't open."

Legolas sat down next to Aragorn. "Why doesn't Gimli call on his family to open the gates for us?" he said, snidely, in Elvish.

"Let's be serious, Legolas," Aragorn replied, unconsciously using the same tongue. "For an elf as old as you are, you don't act very mature."

"An elf any older than I would have had less recklessness, more common sense, and wouldn't even be on this excursion," retorted Legolas.

"Then why didn't your brother come?" Aragorn asked.

"Sterransen did not come because Lord Elrond favors the number nine," Legolas answered, without missing a beat. "What mystical associations that number has, I don't know."

A shadow fell over them (or what passed for a shadow in the dim place) as Boromir walked up with Gimli by his side. "I hate when you do that," he grouched.

"Do what?" Legolas and Aragorn looked up and answered in unison. Aragorn curious, and Legolas with a mischievous grin, because he knew what was bothering the human.

"Talk in Elvish. It's not only rude, it's impolite."

There was a pause. "Aren't rude and impolite the same thing?" Aragorn said finally. Legolas and Gimli were struggling to keep back laughter.

Boromir considered this. "Well, you shouldn't talk in Elvish. The rest of us can't understand what you're saying. It's not only rude, it's discourteous."

Gimli let out a guffaw and walked off.

"The man is only semi-literate," Legolas said to Aragorn, in Elvish.

"Am not," countered Boromir.

Astonished, Legolas said, "You don't speak Elvish, Boromir…"

"Yes, I do," Boromir said, smiling smugly. "I can understand everything you guys are saying."

"Which is why only half a minute ago you were complaining about how you couldn't understand Aragorn and I."

"Well, I…" Seeing that he had lost the argument, Boromir stamped off to join Gandalf.

Aragorn was saying something (in Elvish) but Legolas wasn't listening - he was watching Gandalf, who had picked up his staff again, and was gesturing rudely at the doors, shouting Dwarvish words. Legolas strongly suspected he was cursing.

"Gandalf," he called over, "I don't believe that swearing at the doors will cause them to open."

"Have you a suggestion, then?" Gandalf bellowed back sarcastically, in Elvish. "If you're so clever, you're welcome to it, my friend."

There was a grinding noise behind the wizard, as the gates to Moria glowed brightly, and rumbled open.

-fin part nine-

Apologies for the short chapter. Evil, evil writer's block.

Thanks to: Amancirith Carangarien, Forestsilver, ThePet, and Godforsaken.


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